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RESPONSIBILITIES 
AND OTHER POEMS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA. Ltd. 

TORONTO 



RESPONSIBILITIES 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1916 

All rights reserved 



Copyright, 1911 
By WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS 



Copyright, 1904, 1908, and 1912 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Copyright, 1916 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1916. 




CONTENTS 



Responsibilities, 1912-1914 — 
Introductory Rhymes 
The Grey Rock . 
The Two Kings . 
To A Wealthy Man . 
September 1913 . 
To a Friend whose Work has come to 

Nothing 
Paudeen 
To a Shade 
When Helen lived 
The Attack on 'The Playboy of the 

Western World,' 1907 
The Three Beggars , 
The Three Hermits . 
Beggar to Beggar cried 
The Well and the Tree 
Running to Paradise 
The Hour before Dawn 
The Player Queen 
The Realists 
The Witch 
The Peacock 



page 

1 

3 
11 

29 
32 

34 
35 
36 
39 

40 
41 
45 
47 
49 
50 
52 
59 
61 
62 



vi CONTENTS 






page 


The Mountain Tomb . 


. 64 


To A Child dancing in the Wind 


. 66 


A Memory of Youth . 


. 68 


Fallen Majesty 




. 70 


Friends 




. 71 


The Cold Heaven 




. 73 


That the Night come 




. 75 


An Appointment 




. 76 


The.Magi . 




. 77 


The Dotj»s 




. 78 


A Coat 




80 


Closing Rhymes 




81 


From the Green Helmet and other Poems, 


1909-1912— 




His Dream 


. 85 


A Woman Homer sung 




. 87 


The Consolation 




. 89 


No Second Troy 




. 91 


Reconciliation . 




. 92 


King and No King 




. 94 


Peace 




. 96 


Against Unworthy Praise 




. 97 


The Fascination of What's Difj 


FICULT 99 


A Drinking Song 


. 101 


The Coming of Wisdom with Tim 


E . 102 


On hearing that the Students c 


)F OUR 


New University have joine 


D THE 


Ancient Order of Hiberniai 


^S . 103 


To A Poet . 




. 104 



<^uiMi^r\i;! 


5 




Vll 


PAGE 

The Mask 105 


Upon a House shaken by the Land 


Agitation ..... 106 


At the Abbey Theatre 






. 108 


These are the Clouds 






110 


At Galway Races 






112 


A Friend's Illness 






113 


All Things can tempt me 






114 


The Young Man's Song 






115 


The Hour-Glass— 1912 . 






117 


Notes .... 






181 



^In dreams begins responsibility.^ 

Old Play, 

'How am I fallen from myself, for a 

long time now 
I have not seen the Prince of Chang in 

my dreams,^ 

Khoung-foU'tseu, 



RESPONSIBILITIES 



Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain 
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's 

end, 
Old Dublin merchant 'free of ten and 

four' 
Or trading out of Galway into Spain; 
And country scholar, Robert Emmet's 

friend, 
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor; 
Traders or soldiers who have left me 

blood 
That has not passed through any hux- 

ters loin. 
Pardon, and you that did not weigh 

the cost. 
Old Butlers when you took to horse and 

stood 
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne 
Till your bad master blenched and all 

was lost; 



You merchant shipper that leaped over- 
board 
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay, 
You most of all, silent and fierce old 

man 
Because you were the spectacle that 

stirred 
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say 
'Only the wasteful virtues earn the 

sun '; 
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake. 
Although I have come close on forty- 

nine 
I have no child, I have nothing but a 

book. 
Nothing but that to prove your blood 

and mine, 

January 1914. 



THE GREY ROCK 

Poets with whom I learned my trade. 
Companions of the Cheshire Cheese, 
Here's an old story Fve re-made, 
Imagining 'twould better please 
Your ears than stories now in fashion. 
Though you may think I waste my 

breath 
Pretending that there can be passion 
That has more life in it than death. 
And though at bottling of your wine 
The bow-legged Goban had no say; 
The moral's yours because it's mine. 

When cups went round at close of 

day- 
Is not that how good stories run? — 
Somewhere within some hollow hill, 

3 



4 THE GREY ROCK 

If books speak truth in Slievenamon, 
But let that be, the gods were still 
And sleepy, having had their meal. 
And smoky torches made a glare 
On painted pillars, on a deal 
Of fiddles and of flutes hung there 
By the ancient holy hands that brought 

them 
From murmuring Murias, on cups — 
Old Goban hammered them and 

wrought them. 
And put his pattern round their tops 
To hold the wine they buy of him. 
But from the juice that made them 

wise 
All those had lifted up the dim 
Imaginations of their eyes. 
For one that was like woman made 
Before their sleepy eyelids ran 
And trembling with her passion said, 
' Come out and dig for a dead man, 
Who's burrowing somewhere in the 

ground, 



THE GREY ROCK 5 

And mock him to his face and then 
Hollo him on with horse and hound, 
For he is the worst of all dead men.' 

We should be dazed and terror struck, 
If we but saw in dreams that room, 
Those wine-drenched eyes, and curse our 

luck 
That emptied all our days to come, 
I knew a woman none could please, 
Because she dreamed when but a child 
Of men and women made like these; 
And after, when her blood ran wild. 
Had ravelled her own story out. 
And said, 'In two or in three years 
I need must marry some poor lout,"" 
And having said it burst in tears. 
Since, tavern comrades, you have died. 
Maybe your images have stood. 
Mere bone and muscle thrown aside. 
Before that roomful or as good. 
You had to face your ends when young — 
'Twas wine or women, or some curse — 



6 THE GREY ROCK 

But never inade a poorer song 
That you might have a heavier purse. 
Nor gave loud service to a cause 
That you might have a troop of friends. 
You kept the Muses' sterner laws, 
And unrepenting faced your ends. 
And therefore earned the right — and yet 
Dowson and Johnson most I praise — 
To troop with those the world's forgot, 
And copy their proud steady gaze, 

'The Danish troop was driven out 
Between the dawn and dusk,' she 

said; 
* Although the event was long in 

doubt, 
Although the King of Ireland's dead 
And half the kings, before sundown 
All was accomplished.' 

'When this day 
Murrough, the King of Ireland's son, 
Foot after foot was giving way, 



THE GREY ROCK 7 

He and his best troops back to back 
Had perished there, but the Danes ran. 
Stricken with panic from the attack. 
The shouting of an unseen man; 
And being thankful Murrough found. 
Led by a footsole dipped in blood 
That had made prints upon the ground, 
Where by old thorn trees that man 

stood; 
And though when he gazed here and 

there, 
He had but gazed on thorn trees, 

spoke, 
"Who is the friend that seems but air 
And yet could give so fine a stroke?" 
Thereon a young man met his eye. 
Who said, "Because she held me in 
Her love, and would not have me die. 
Rock-nurtured Aoife took a pin, 
And pushing it into my shirt. 
Promised that for a pin's sake. 
No man should see to do me hurt; 
But there it's gone; I will not take 



8 THE GREY ROCK 

The fortune that had been my shame 
Seeing, King's son, what wounds you 

have." 
'Twas roundly spoke, but when night 

came 
He had betrayed me to his grave, 
For he and the King's son were dead. 
I'd promised him two hundred years, 
And when for all I'd done or said — 
And these immortal eyes shed tears — 
He claimed his country's need was 

most, 
I'd save his life, yet for the sake 
Of a new friend he has turned a ghost. 
What does he care if my heart break .^^ 
I call for spade and horse and hound 
That we may harry him.' Thereon 
She cast herself upon the ground 
And rent her clothes and made her 

moan : 
'Why are they faithless when their 

might 
Is from the holy shades that rove 



THE GREY ROCK 9 

The grey rock and the windy hght? 
Why should the faithfullest heart 

most love 
The bitter sweetness of false faces? 
Why must the lasting love what 

passes, 
Why are the gods by men betrayed ! ' 

But thereon every god stood up 
With a slow smile and without sound, 
And stretching forth his arm and cup 
To where she moaned upon the 

ground, 
Suddenly drenched her to the skin; 
And she with Goban's wine adrip. 
No more remembering what had been. 
Stared at the gods with laughing lip. 

I have kept my faith, though faith was 

tried, 
To that rock-born, rock-wandering foot, 
And the ivorld's altered since you died. 
And I am in no good repute 



10 THE GREY ROCK 

With the loud host before the sea, 

That think sword strokes were better 

meant 
Than lover s music — let that be, 
So that the wandering foot's content. 



THE TWO KINGS 

King Eochaid came at sundown to a 

wood 
Westward of Tara. Hurrying to his 

queen 
He had out-ridden his war-wasted men 
That with empounded cattle trod the 

mire; 
And where beech trees had mixed a 

pale green light 
With the ground-ivy's blue, he saw a 

stag 
Whiter than curds, its eyes the tint 

of the sea. 
Because it stood upon his path and 

seemed 

More hands in height than any stag 

in the world 

11 



12 THE TWO KINGS 

He sat with tightened rein and loosened 

mouth 
Upon his trembhng horse, then drove 

the spur; 
But the stag stooped and ran at him, 

and passed, 
Rending the horse's flank. King 

Eochaid reeled 
Then drew his sword to hold its 

levelled point 
Against the stag. When horn and 

steel were met 
The horn resounded as though it had 

been silver, 
A sweet, miraculous, terrifying sound. 
Horn locked in sword, they tugged 

and struggled there 
As though a stag and unicorn were 

met 
In Africa on Mountain of the Moon, 
Until at last the double horns, drawn 

backward, 
Butted below the single and so pierced 



THE TWO KINGS 13 

The entrails of the horse. Dropping 

his sword 
King Eoehaid seized the horns in his 

strong hands 
And stared into the sea-green eye, and 

so 
Hither and thither to and fro they trod 
Till all the place was beaten into mire. 
The strong thigh and the agile thigh 

were met, 
The hands that gathered up the might 

of the world. 
And hoof and horn that had sucked in 

their speed 
Amid the elaborate wilderness of the air. 
Through bush they plunged and over 

ivied root. 
And where the stone struck fire, while 

in the leaves 
A squirrel whinnied and a bird screamed 

out; 
But when at last he forced those 

sinewy flanks 



14 THE TWO KINGS 

Against a beech bole, he threw down 

the beast 
And knelt above it with drawn knife. 

On the instant 
It vanished like a shadow, and a cry 
So mournful that it seemed the cry of 

one 
Who had lost some unimaginable 

treasure 
Wandered between the blue and the 

green leaf 
And climbed into the air, crumbling 

away. 
Till all had seemed a shadow or a vision 
But for the trodden mire, the pool of 

blood. 
The disembowelled horse. 

King Eochaid ran. 
Toward peopled Tara, nor stood to 

draw his breath 
Until he came before the painted wall. 
The posts of polished yew, circled 

with bronze. 



THE TWO KINGS 15 

Of the great door; but though the 

hanging lamps 
Showed their faint Hght through the 

unshuttered windows, 
Nor door, nor mouth, nor sKpper made 

a noise. 
Nor on the ancient beaten paths, that 

wound 
From well-side or from plough-land, 

was there noise; 
And there had been no sound of 

living thing 
Before him or behind, but that far-off 
On the horizon edge bellowed the herds. 
Knowing that silence brings no good 

to kings, 
And mocks returning victory, he 

passed 
Between the pillars with a beating 

heart 
And saw where in the midst of the 

great hall 
Pale-faced, alone upon a bench, Edain 



16 THE TWO KINGS 

Sat upright with a sword before her 

feet. 
Her hands on either side had gripped 

the bench, 
Her eyes were cold and steady, her 

Hps tight. 
Some passion had made her stone. 

Hearing a foot 
She started and then knew whose 

foot it was; 
But when he thought to take her in 

his arms 
She motioned him afar, and rose and 

spoke : 
'I have sent among the fields or to 

the woods 
The fighting men and servants of this 

house. 
For I would have your judgment 

upon one 
Who is self -accused. If she be innocent 
She would not look in any known 

man's face 



THE TWO KINGS 17 

Till judgment has been given, and if 

guilty, 
Will never look again on known man's 

face.' 
And at these words he paled, as she 

had paled. 
Knowing that he should find upon 

her lips 
The meaning of that monstrous 

day. 

Then she: 
'You brought me where your brother 

Ardan sat 
Always in his one seat, and bid me 

care him 
Through that strange illness that had 

fixed him there. 
And should he die to heap his burial 

mound 
And carve his name in Ogham.' 

Eochaid said, 
'He fives .^' 'He lives and is a healthy 

man.' 



18 THE TWO KINGS 

'While I have him and you it matters 

Httle 
What man you have lost, what evil 

you have found.' 
'I bid them make his bed under this roof 
And carried him his food with my 

own hands, 
And so the weeks passed by. But 

when I said 
"What is this trouble.^" he would 

answer nothing. 
Though always at my words his trouble 

grew; 
And I but asked the more, till he cried 

out, 
Weary of many questions: '* There 

are things 
That make the heart akin to the dumb 

stone." 
Then I replied: "Although you hide 

a secret. 
Hopeless and dear, or terrible to think 

on. 



THE TWO KINGS 19 

Speak it, that I may send through the 

wide world 
For medicine. " Thereon he cried aloud : 
''Day after day you question me, and I, 
Because there is such a storm amid 

my thoughts 
I shall be carried in the gust, command. 
Forbid, beseech and waste my breath." 

Then I, 
"Although the thing that you have 

hid were evil. 
The speaking of it could be no great 

wrong. 
And evil must it be, if done 'twere 

worse 
Than mound and stone that keep all 

virtue in. 
And loosen on us dreams that waste 

our life. 
Shadows and shows that can but turn 

the brain." 
But finding him still silent I stooped 

down 



20 THE TWO KINGS 

And whispering that none but he 

should hear, 
Said: "If a woman has put this on you, 
My men, whether it please her or 

displease, 
And though they have to cross the 

Loughlan waters 
And take her in the middle of armed 

men, 
Shall make her look upon her handi- 
work. 
That she may quench the rick she has 

fired; and though 
She may have worn silk clothes, or 

worn a crown. 
She'll not be proud, knowing within 

her heart 
That our sufficient portion of the world 
Is that we give, although it be brief 

giving, 
Happiness to children and to men." 
Then he, driven by his thought beyond 

his thought. 



THE TWO KINGS 21 

And speaking what he would not 

though he would, 
Sighed: "You, even you yourself, 

could work the cure!" 
And at those words I rose and I went 

out 
And for nine days he had food from 

other hands, 
And for nine days my mind went 

whirling round 
The one disastrous zodiac, muttering 
That the immedicable mound's beyond 
Our questioning, beyond our pity even. 
But when nine days had gone I stood 

again 
Before his chair and bending down 

my head 
Told him, that when Orion rose, and 

all 
The women of his household were 

asleep, 
To go — for hope would give his limbs 

the power — 



22 THE TWO KINGS 

To an old empty woodman's house 

that's hidden 
Close to a clump of beech trees in the 

wood 
Westward of Tara, there to await a 

friend 
That could, as he had told her, work 

his cure 
And would be no harsh friend. 

When night had deepened, 
I groped my way through boughs, 

and over roots. 
Till oak and hazel ceased and beech 

began, 
And found the house, a sputtering 

torch within, 
And stretched out sleeping on a pile 

of skins 
Ardan, and though I called to him 

and tried 
To shake him out of sleep, I could not 

rouse him. 
I waited till the night was on the turn. 



THE TWO KINGS 23 

Then fearing that some labourer, on 

his way 
To plough or pasture-land, might see 

me there. 
Went out. 

Among the ivy-covered rocks, 
As on the blue light of a sword, a man 
Who had unnatural majesty, and eyes 
Like the eyes of some great kite 

scouring the woods. 
Stood on my path. Trembling from 

head to foot 
I gazed at him like grouse upon a kite; 
But with a voice that had unnatural 

music, 
''A weary wooing and a long," he said, 
''Speaking of love through other lips 

and looking 
Under the eyelids of another, for it 

was my craft 
That put a passion in the sleeper there, 
And when I had got my will and 

drawn you here. 



24 THE TWO KINGS 

Where I may speak to you alone, my 

craft 
Sucked up the passion out of him 

again 
And left mere sleep. He'll wake when 

the sun wakes, 
Push out his vigorous limbs and rub 

his eyes, 
And wonder what has ailed him these 

twelve months." 
I cowered back upon the wall in terror. 
But that sweet-sounding voice ran on: 

"Woman, 
I was your husband when you rode 

the air. 
Danced in the whirling foam and in 

the dust. 
In days you have not kept in memory. 
Being betrayed into a cradle, and I 

come 
That I may claim you as my wife 

again." 
I was no longer terrified, his voice 



THE TWO KINGS 25 

Had half awakened some old memory, 
Yet answered him: ''I am King 

Eoehaid's wife 
And with him have found every 

happiness 
Women can find." With a most 

masterful voice, 
That made the body seem as it were 

a string 
Under a bow, he cried: "What hap- 
piness 
Can lovers have that know their 

happiness 
Must end at the dumb stone? But 

where we build 
Our sudden palaces in the still air 
Pleasure itself can bring no weariness. 
Nor can time waste the cheek, nor is 

there foot 
That has grown weary of the whirling 

dance. 
Nor an unlaughing mouth, but mine 

that mourns, 



26 THE TWO KINGS 

Among those mouths that sing their 

sweethearts' praise. 
Your empty bed." "How should I 

love," I answered, 
*'Were it not that when the dawn 

has lit my bed 
And shown my husband sleeping there, 

I have sighed, 
'Your strength and nobleness will 

pass away.' 
Or how should love be worth its pains 

were it not 
That when he has fallen asleep within 

my arms. 
Being wearied out, I love in man the 

child.?^ 
What can they know of love that do 

not know 
She builds her nest upon a narrow 

ledge 
Above a windy precipice?" Then he: 
''Seeing that when you come to the 

death-bed 



THE TWO KINGS 27 

You must return, whether you would 

or no, 
This human Hfe blotted from memory. 
Why must I live some thirty, forty 

years. 
Alone with all this useless happiness? " 
Thereon he seized me in his arms, 

but I 
Thrust him away with both my hands 

and cried, 
''Never will I believe there is any 

change 
Can blot out of my memory this 

life 
Sweetened by death, but if I could 

believe 
That were a double hunger in my lips 
For what is doubly brief." 

And now the shape. 
My hands were pressed to, vanished 

suddenly. 
I staggered, but a beech tree stayed 

my fall, 



28 THE TWO KINGS 

And clinging to it I could hear the 

cocks 
Crow upon Tara.' 

King Eochaid bowed his head 
And thanked her for her kindness to 

his brother, 
For that she promised, and for that 

refused. 

Thereon the bellowing of the em- 
pounded herds 

Rose round the walls, and through the 
bronze-ringed door 

Jostled and shouted those war-wasted 
men, 

And in the midst King Eochaid's 
brother stood. 

He'd heard that din on the horizon's 
edge 

And ridden towards it, being ignorant. 



TO A WEALTHY MAN WHO PROMISED 
A SECOND SUBSCRIPTION TO THE 
DUBLIN MUNICIPAL GALLERY IF 
IT WERE PROVED THE PEOPLE 
WANTED PICTURES 

You gave but will not give again 
Until enough of Paudeen's pence 
By Biddy's halfpennies have Iain 
To be 'some sort of evidence/ 
Before you'll put your guineas down, 
That things it were a pride to give 
Are what the blind and ignorant town 
Imagines best to make it thrive. 
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid 
His mummers to the market place, 
What th' onion-sellers thought or did 
So that his Plautus set the pace 
For the Italian comedies? 
And Guidobaldo, when he made 

29 



30 TO A WEALTHY MAN 

That grammar school of courtesies 
Where wit and beauty learned their 

trade 
Upon Urbino's windy hill. 
Had sent no runners to and fro 
That he might learn the shepherds' 

will. 
And when they drove out Cosimo, 
Indifferent how the rancour ran, 
He gave the hours they had set 

free 
To Michelozzo's latest plan 
For the San Marco Library, 
Whence turbulent Italy should draw 
Delight in Art whose end is peace. 
In logic and in natural law 
By sucking at the dugs of Greece. 

Your open hand but shows our loss. 
For he knew better how to live. 
Let Paudeens play at pitch and toss. 
Look up in the sun's eye and give 
What the exultant heart calls good 



TO A WEALTHY MAN 31 

That some new day may breed the 

best 
Because you gave, not what they 

would 
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest! 

December 1912. 



SEPTEMBER 1913 

What need you, being come to sense, 
But fumble in a greasy till 
And add the halfpence to the pence 
And prayer to shivering prayer, until 
You have dried the marrow from the 

bone; 
For men were born to pray and save: 
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone. 
It's with O'Leary in the grave. 

Yet they were of a different kind 
The names that stilled your childish 

play, 
They have gone about the world like 

wind. 
But little time had they to pray 
For whom the hangman's rope was 

spun, 

32 



SEPTEMBER 1913 33 

And what, God help us, could they 

save: 
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, 
It's with O'Leary in the grave. 

Was it for this the wild geese spread 
The grey wing upon every tide; 
For this that all that blood was shed. 
For this Edward Fitzgerald died. 
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, 
All that delirium of the brave; 
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone. 
It's with O'Leary in the grave. 

Yet could we turn the years again. 
And call those exiles as they were. 
In all their loneliness and pain 
You'd cry 'some woman's yellow hair 
Has maddened every mother's son ' : 
They weighed so lightly what they 

gave. 
But let them be, they're dead and gone, 
They're with O'Leary in the grave. 



TO A FRIEND WHOSE WORK 
HAS COME TO NOTHING 

Now all the truth is out, 
Be secret and take defeat 
From any brazen throat. 
For how can you compete. 
Being honour bred, with one 
Who, were it proved he lies. 
Were neither shamed in his own 
Nor in his neighbours' eyes? 
Bred to a harder thing 
Than Triumph, turn away 
And like a laughing string 
Whereon mad fingers play 
Amid a place of stone, 
Be secret and exult. 
Because of all things known 
That is most diflficult. 



34 



PAUDEEN 

Indignant at the fumbling wits, the 

obscure spite 
Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I 

stumbled blind 
Among the stones and thorn trees, 

under morning light; 
Until a curlew cried and in the lumi- 
nous wind 
A curlew answered; and suddenly 

thereupon I thought 
That on the lonely height where all 

are in God's eye. 
There cannot be, confusion of our 

sound forgot, 
A single soul that lacks a sweet crys- 

taline cry. 



35 



TO A SHADE 

If you have revisited the town, thin 

Shade, 
Whether to look upon your monument 
(I wonder if the builder has been paid) 
Or happier thoughted when the day 

is spent 
To drink of that salt breath out of 

the sea 
When grey gulls flit about instead of 

men, 
And the gaunt houses put on majesty: 
Let these content you and be gone 

again; 
For they are at their old tricks yet. 

A man 
Of your own passionate serving kind 

who had brought 

36 



TO A SHADE 37 

In his full hands what, had they only 

known, 
Had given their children's children 

loftier thought, 
Sweeter emotion, working in their 

veins 
Like gentle blood, has been driven 

from the place. 
And insult heaped upon him for his 

pains 
And for his open-handedness, dis- 
grace; 
An old foul mouth that slandered 

you had set 
The pack upon him. 

Go, unquiet wanderer. 
And gather the Glasnevin coverlet 
About your head till the dust stops 

your ear. 
The time for you to taste of that salt 

breath 
And listen at the corners has not 

come; 



38 TO A SHADE 

You had enough of sorrow before 

death — 
Away, away! You are safer in the 

tomb. 

September ^9th, 1914. 



WHEN HELEN LIVED 

We have cried in our despair 

That men desert, 

For some trivial affair 

Or noisy, insolent sport, 

Beauty that we have won 

From bitterest hours; 

Yet we, had we walked within 

Those topless towers 

Where Helen walked with her boy, 

Had given but as the rest 

Of the men and women of Troy, 

A word and a jest. 



39 



THE ATTACK ON 'THE PLAYBOY 
OF THE WESTERN WORLD/ 
1907 

Once, when midnight smote the air, 
Eunuchs ran through Hell and met 
From thoroughfare to thoroughfare, 
While that great Juan galloped by; 
And like these to rail and sweat 
Staring upon his sinewy thigh. 



40 



THE THREE BEGGARS 

' Though to my feathers in the wet, 
I have stood here from break of day, 
I have not found a thing to eat 
For only rubbish comes my way. 
Am I to live on lebeen-lone? ' 
Muttered the old crane of Gort. 
'For all my pains on lebeen-lone,'* 

King Guari walked amid his court 
The palace-yard and river-side 
And there to three old beggars said: 
'You that have wandered far and 

wide 
Can ravel out what's in my head. 
Do men who least desire get most, 
Or get the most who most desire?' 
A beggar said: 'They get the most 

41 



42 THE THREE BEGGARS 

Whom man or devil cannot tire, 

And what could make their muscles 

taut 
Unless desire had made them so.' 
But Guari laughed with secret thought, 
'If that be true as it seems true. 
One of you three is a rich man, 
For he shall have a thousand pounds 
Who is first asleep, if but he can 
Sleep before the third noon sounds.' 
And thereon merry as a bird. 
With his old thoughts King Guari 

went 
From river-side and palace-yard 
And left them to their argument. 
'And if I win,' one beggar said, 
'Though I am old I shall persuade 
A pretty girl to share my bed ' ; 
The second: 'I shall learn a trade'; 
The third: 'I'll hurry to the course 
Among the other gentlemen. 
And lay it all upon a horse'; 
The second: 'I have thought again: 



THE THREE BEGGARS 43 

A farmer has more dignity.' 
One to another sighed and cried: 
The exorbitant dreams of beggary, 
That idleness had borne to pride, 
Sang through their teeth from noon 

to noon; 
And when the second twihght brought 
The frenzy of the beggars' moon 
They closed their blood-shot eyes for 

naught. 
One beggar cried: 'You're shamming 

sleep.' 
And thereupon their anger grew 
Till they were whirling in a heap. 

They'd mauled and bitten the night 

through 
Or sat upon their heels to rail, 
And when old Guari came and stood 
Before the three to end this tale. 
They were commingling lice and blood. 
'Time's up,' he cried, and all the 

three 



44 THE THREE BEGGARS 

With blood-shot eyes upon him stared. 
'Time's up,' he cried, and all the 

three 
Fell down upon the dust and snored. 

' Maybe I shall be lucky yet, 
Now they are silent ^^ said the crane, 
' Though to my feathers in the wet 
Fve stood as I were made of stone 
And seen the rubbish run about, 
It's certain there are trout somewhere 
And maybe I shall take a trout 
If but I do not seem to care,' 



THE THREE HERMITS 

Three old hermits took the air 

By a cold and desolate sea, 

First was muttering a prayer, 

Second rummaged for a flea; 

On a windy stone, the third. 

Giddy with his hundredth year, 

Sang unnoticed like a bird. 

'Though the Door of Death is near 

And what waits behind the door, 

Three times in a single day 

I, though upright on the shore. 

Fall asleep when I should pray.' 

So the first but now the second, 

* We're but given what we have 

earned 
When all thoughts and deeds are 

reckoned, 
So it's plain to be discerned 

45 



46 THE THREE HERMITS 

That the shades of holy men, 
Who have failed being weak of will. 
Pass the Door of Birth again. 
And are plagued by crowds, until 
They've the passion to escape.' 
Moaned the other, 'They are thrown 
Into some most fearful shape.' 
But the second mocked his moan: 
'They are not changed to anything, 
Having loved God once, but maybe. 
To a poet or a king 
Or a witty lovely lady.' 
While he'd rummaged rags and hair, 
Caught and cracked his flea, the third. 
Giddy with his hundredth year 
Sang unnoticed like a bird. 



BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED 

*TiME to put off the world and go 
somewhere 

And find my health again in the sea 
air,' 

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- 
struck, 

'And make my soul before my pate 
is bare.' 

'And get a comfortable wife and house 
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,' 
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- 
struck, 
'And the worse devil that is between 
my thighs.' 

'And though I'd marry with a comely 
lass, 

47 



48 BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED 

She need not be too comely — let it 
pass,' 

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- 
struck, 

'But there's a devil in a looking- 
glass.' 

'Nor should she be too rich, because 
the rich 

Are driven by wealth as beggars by 
the itch,' 

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- 
struck, 

'And cannot have a humorous happy 
speech.' 

'And there I'll grow respected at my 
ease. 

And hear amid the garden's nightly 
peace,' 

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy- 
struck, 

'The wind-blown clamor of the 
barnacle-geese.' 



THE WELL AND THE TREE 

'The Man that I praise,' 

Cries out the empty well, 

'Lives all his days 

Where a hand on the bell 

Can call the milch-cows 

To the comfortable door of his house. 

Who but an idiot would praise 

Dry stones in a well?' 

'The Man that I praise,' 

Cries out the leafless tree, 

'Has married and stays 

By an old hearth, and he 

On naught has set store 

But children and dogs on the floor. 

Who but an idiot would praise 

A withered tree?' 



49 



RUNNING TO PARADISE 

As I came over Windy Gap 

They threw a halfpenny into my cap. 

For I am running to Paradise; 

And all that I need do is to wish 

And somebody puts his hand in the 

dish 
To throw me a bit of salted fish : 
And there the king is but as the 

beggar. 

My brother Mourteen is worn out 
With skelping his big brawling lout, 
And I am running to Paradise; 
A poor life do what he can, 
And though he keep a dog and a gun, 
A serving maid and a serving man : 
And there the king is but as the 
beggar. 

50 



RUNNING TO PARADISE 51 

Poor men have grown to be rich men, 
And rich men grown to be poor again, 
And I am running to Paradise; 
And many a darhng wit's grown dull 
That tossed a bare heel when at school. 
Now it has filled an old sock full : 
And there the king is but as the 
beggar. 

The wind is old and still at play 
While I must hurry upon my way, 
For I am running to Paradise; 
Yet never have I lit on a friend 
To take my fancy like the wind 
That nobody can buy or bind: 
And there the king is but as the 
beggar. 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 

A ONE-LEGGED, one-armed, one-eyed 

man, 
A bundle of rags upon a crutch. 
Stumbled on windy Cruachan 
Cursing the wind. It was as much 
As the one sturdy leg could do 
To keep him upright while he cursed. 
He had counted, where long years ago 
Queen Maeve's nine Maines had been 

nursed, 
A pair of lapwings, one old sheep 
And not a house to the plain's edge. 
When close to his right hand a heap 
Of grey stones and a rocky ledge 
Reminded him that he could make. 
If he but shifted a few stones, 
A shelter till the daylight broke. 

52 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 53 

But while he fumbled with the stones 

They toppled over; 'Were it not 

I have a lucky wooden shin 

I had been hurt'; and toppling 

brought 
Before his eyes, where stones had 

been, 
A dark deep hole in the rock's face. 
He gave a gasp and thought to 

run, 
Being certain it was no right place 
But the Hell Mouth at Cruachan 
That's stuffed with all that's old and 

bad. 
And yet stood still, because inside 
He had seen a red-haired jolly lad 
In some outlandish coat beside 
A ladle and a tub of beer. 
Plainly no phantom by his look. 
So with a laugh at his own fear 
He crawled into that pleasant nook. 
Young Red-head stretched himself to 

yawn 



54 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 

And murmured, 'May God curse the 

night 
That's grown uneasy near the dawn 
So that it seems even I sleep Hght; 
And who are you that wakens me? 
Has one of Maeve's nine brawHng sons 
Grown tired of his own company? 
But let him keep his grave for once 
I have to find the sleep I have lost.' 
And then at last being wide awake, 
' I took you for a brawling ghost, 
Say what you please, but from day- 
break 
I'll sleep another century.' 
The beggar deaf to all but hope 
Went down upon a hand and knee 
And took the wooden ladle up 
And would have dipped it in the beer 
But the other pushed his hand aside, 
'Before you have dipped it in the beer 
That sacred Goban brewed,' he cried, 
'I'd have assurance that you are able 
To value beer — I will have no fool 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 55 

Dipping his nose into my ladle 
Because he has stumbled on this hole 
In the bad hour before the dawn. 
If you but drink that beer and say 
I will sleep until the winter's gone, 
Or maybe, to Midsummer Day 
You will sleep that length; and at the 

first 
I waited so for that or this — 
Because the weather was a-cursed 
Or I had no woman there to kiss. 
And slept for half a year or so; 
But year by year I found that less 
Gave me such pleasure I'd forgo 
Even a half hour's nothingness. 
And when at one year's end I found 
I had not waked a single minute, 
I chose this burrow under ground. 
I will sleep away all Time within it: 
My sleep were now nine centuries 
But for those mornings when I find 
The lapwing at their foolish cries 
And the sheep bleating at the wind 



56 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 

As when I also played the fool.' 

The beggar in a rage began 

Upon his hunkers in the hole, 

'It's plain that you are no right man 

To mock at everything I love 

As if it were not worth the doing. 

I'd have a merry life enough 

If a good Easter wind were blowing, 

And though the winter wind is bad 

I should not be too down in the mouth 

For anything you did or said 

If but this wind were in the south.' 

But the other cried, 'You long for 

spring 
Or that the wind would shift a point 
And do not know that you would 

bring, 
If time were suppler in the joint. 
Neither the spring nor the south wind 
But the hour when you shall pass 

away 
And leave no smoking wick behind, 
For all life longs for the Last Day 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 57 

And there's no man but cocks his ear 
To know when Michael's trumpet 

cries 
That flesh and bone may disappear, 
And souls as if they were but sighs, 
And there be nothing but God left; 
But I alone being blessed keep 
Like some old rabbit to my cleft 
And wait Him in a drunken sleep.' 

He dipped his ladle in the tub 

And drank and yawned and stretched 

him out. 
The other shouted, 'You would rob 
My life of every pleasant thought 
And every comfortable thing 
And so take that and that.' Thereon 
He gave him a great pummelling. 
But might have pummelled at a stone 
For all the sleeper knew or cared; 
And after heaped the stones again 
And cursed and prayed, and prayed 

and cursed: 



58 THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 

*01i God if he got loose!' And then 
In fury and in panic fled 
From the Hell Mouth at Cruaehan 
And gave God thanks that overhead 
The clouds were brightening with the 
dawn. 



THE PLAYER QUEEN 

(Song from an Unfinished Play) 

My mother dandled me and sang, 
' How young it is, how young ! ' 
And made a golden cradle 
That on a willow swung. 

*He went away,' my mother sang, 
*When I was brought to bed,' 
And all the while her needle pulled 
The gold and silver thread. 

She pulled the thread and bit the 

thread 
And made a golden gown. 
And wept because she had dreamt that I 
Was born to wear a crown. 

59 



60 THE PLAYER QUEEN 

'When she was got,' my mother sang, 
'I heard a sea-mew cry. 
And saw a flake of the yellow foam 
That dropped upon my thigh.' 

How therefore could she help but 

braid 
The gold into my hair. 
And dream that I should carry 
The golden top of care? 



THE REALISTS 

Hope that you may understand ! 
What can books of men that wive 
In a dragon-guarded land, 
Paintings of the dolphin-drawn 
Sea-nymphs in their pearly waggons 
Do, but awake a hope to live 
That had gone 
With the dragons? 



61 



THE WITCH 

Toil and grow rich, 
What's that but to he 
With a foul witch 
And after, drained dry. 
To be brought 
To the chamber where 
Lies one long sought 
With despair. 



62 



II 

THE PEACOCK 

What's riches to him 

That has made a great peacock 

With the pride of his eye? 

The wind-beaten, stone-grey. 

And desolate Three-rock 

Would nourish his whim. 

Live he or die 

Amid wet rocks and heather, 

His ghost will be gay 

Adding feather to feather 

For the pride of his eye. 



63 



THE MOUNTAIN TOMB 

Pour wine and dance if Manhood still 
have pride, 

Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom; 

The cataract smokes upon the moun- 
tain side, 

Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb. 

Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle and 

clarionet 
That there be no foot silent in the 

room 
Nor mouth from kissing, nor from 

wine unwet; 
Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb. 

In vain, in vain; the cataract still 
cries 

64 



THE MOUNTAIN TOMB 65 

The everlasting taper lights the gloom; 
All wisdom shut into his onyx eyes 
Our Father Rosicross sleeps in his 
tomb. 



TO A CHILD DANCING IN 
THE WIND 



Dance there upon the shore; 
What need have you to care 
For wind or water's roar? 
And tumble out your hair 
That the salt drops have wet; 
Being young you have not known 
The fool's triumph, nor yet 
Love lost as soon as won, 
Nor the best labourer dead 
And all the sheaves to bind. 
What need have you to dread 
The monstrous crying of wind? 

II 

Has no one said those daring 
Kind eyes should be more learn'd? 



TO A CHILD 67 

Or warned you how despairing 

The moths are when they are burned, 

I could have warned you, but you are 

young. 
So we speak a different tongue. 

O you will take whatever's offered 
And dream that all the world's a 

friend. 
Suffer as your mother suffered. 
Be as broken in the end. 
But I am old and you are young, 
And I speak a barbarous tongue. 



A MEMORY OF YOUTH 

The moments passed as at a play, 
I had the wisdom love brings forth; 
I had my share of mother wit 
And yet for all that I could say, 
And though I had her praise for it, 
A cloud blown from the cut-throat 

north 
Suddenly hid love's moon away. 

Believing every word I said 

I praised her body and her mind 

Till pride had made her eyes grow 

bright. 
And pleasure made her cheeks grow 

red, 
And vanity her footfall light. 
Yet we, for all that praise, could find 
Nothing but darkness overhead. 

68 



A MEMORY OF YOUTH 69 

We sat as silent as a stone, 

We knew, though she'd not said a 

word. 
That even the best of love must die. 
And had been savagely undone 
Were it not that love upon the cry 
Of a most ridiculous little bird 
Tore from the clouds his marvellous 

moon. 



FALLEN MAJESTY 

Although crowds gathered once if 

she but showed her face, 
And even old men's eyes grew dim, 

this hand alone, 
Like some last courtier at a gypsy 

camping place, 
Babbling of fallen majesty, records 

what's gone. 

The lineaments, a heart that laughter 

has made sweet. 
These, these remain, but I record 

what's gone. A crowd 
Will gather, and not know it walks 

the very street 
Whereon a thing once walked that 

seemed a burning cloud. 



70 



FRIENDS 

Now must I these three praise — 
Three women that have wrought 
What joy is in my days; 
One that no passing thought, 
Nor those unpassing cares, 
No, not in these fifteen 
Many times troubled years. 
Could ever come between 
Heart and delighted heart; 
And one because her hand 
Had strength that could unbind 
What none can understand, 
What none can have and thrive, 
Youth's dreamy load, till she 
So changed me that I live 
Labouring in ecstasy. 
And what of her that took 
All till my youth was gone 

71 



72 FRIENDS 

With scarce a pitying look? 
How should I praise that one? 
When day begins to break 
I count my good and bad. 
Being wakeful for her sake. 
Remembering what she had. 
What eagle look still shows, 
While up from my heart's root 
So great a sweetness jSiows 
I shake from head to foot. 



THE COLD HEAVEN 

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook- 
delighting Heaven 
That seemed as though ice burned and 

was but the more ice, 
And thereupon imagination and heart 

were driven 
So wild that every casual thought 

of that and this 
Vanished, and left but memories, that 

should be out of season 
With the hot blood of youth, of love 

crossed long ago; 
And I took all the blame out of all 

sense and reason, 
Until I cried and trembled and rocked 

to and fro, 
Riddled with light. Ah! when the 

ghost begins to quicken, 

73 



74 THE COLD HEAVEN 

Confusion of the death-bed over, is it 
sent 

Out naked on the roads, as the books 
say, and stricken 

By the injustice of the skies for pun- 
ishment? 



THAT THE NIGHT COME 

She lived in storm and strife, 
Her soul had such desire 
For what proud death may bring 
That it could not endure 
The common good of life, 
But lived as 'twere a king 
That packed his marriage day 
With banneret and pennon. 
Trumpet and kettledrum, 
And the outrageous cannon, 
To bundle time away 
That the night come. 



75 



AN APPOINTMENT 

Being out of heart with government 

I took a broken root to fling 

Where the proud, wayward squirrel 

went, 
Taking dehght that he could spring; 
And he, with that low whinnying 

sound 
That is like laughter, sprang again 
And so to the other tree at a bound. 
Nor the tame will, nor timid brain. 
Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly 

limb 
And threw him up to laugh on the 

bough; 
No government appointed him. 



76 



THE MAGI 

Now as at all times I can see in the 
mind's eye, 

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale 
unsatisfied ones 

Appear and disappear in the blue 
depth of the sky 

With all their ancient faces like rain- 
beaten stones, 

And all their helms of silver hovering 
side by side. 

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping 
to find once more. 

Being by Calvary's turbulence un- 
satisfied. 

The uncontrollable mystery on the 
bestial floor. 



77 



II 

THE DOLLS 

A DOLL in the doll-maker's house 
Looks at the cradle and balls: 
'That is an insult to us.' 
But the oldest of all the dolls 
Who had seen, being kept for show, 
Generations of his sort. 
Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Al- 
though 
There's not a man can report 
Evil of this place. 
The man and the woman bring 
Hither to our disgrace, 
A noisy and filthy thing.' 
Hearing him groan and stretch 
The doll-maker's wife is aware 
Her husband has heard the wretch. 
And crouched by the arm of his chair, 

78 



THE DOLLS 79 

She murmurs into his ear. 
Head upon shoulder leant: 
'My dear, my dear, oh dear, 
It was an accident.' 



A COAT 

I MADE my song a coat 
Covered with embroideries 
Out of old mythologies 
From heel to throat; 
But the fools caught it, 
Wore it in the world's eye 
As though they'd wrought it. 
Song, let them take it 
For there's more enterprise 
In walking naked. 



80 



While 7, from that reed-throated 

whisperer 
Who comes at need, although not now 

as once 
A clear articulation in the air 
But inwardly, surmise companions 
Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof, 
— Ben Jonsons phrase — and find when 

June is come 
At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof 
A sterner conscience and a friendlier 

home, 
I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs. 
Those undreamt accidents that have 

made me 
— Seeing that Fame has perished this 

long while 
Being but a part of ancient ceremony — 
Notorious, till all my priceless things 
Are but a post the passing dogs defile. 



81 



FROM THE GREEN HELMET 
AND OTHER POEMS 



83 



HIS DREAM 

I SWAYED upon the gaudy stern 
The butt end of a steering oar, 
And everywhere that I could turn 
Men ran upon the shore. 

And though I would have hushed the 

crowd 
There was no mother's son but said, 
'What is the figure in a shroud 
Upon a gaudy bed?' 

And fishes bubbling to the brim 
Cried out upon that thing beneath, 
• — It had such dignity of limb — 
By the sweet name of Death. 

Though I'd my finger on my lip, 
What could I but take up the song? 

85 



86 HIS DREAM 

And fish and crowd and gaudy ship 
Cried out the whole night long, 

Crying amid the glittering sea, 
Naming it with ecstatic breath, 
Because it had such dignity 
By the sweet name of Death. 



A WOMAN HOMER SUNG 

If any man drew near 
When I was young, 
I thought, 'He holds her dear,* 
And shook with hate and fear. 
But oh, 'twas bitter wrong 
If he could pass her by 
With an indifferent eye. 

Whereon I wrote and wrought, 
And now, being grey, 
I dream that I have brought 
To such a pitch my thought 
That coming time can say, 
'He shadowed in a glass 
What thing her body was.' 

For she had fiery blood 
When I was young, 

87 



88 A WOMAN HOMER SUNG 

And trod so sweetly proud 
As 'twere upon a cloud, 
A woman Homer sung, 
That life and letters seem 
But an heroic dream. 



THE CONSOLATION 

I HAD this thought awhile ago, 
'My darhng cannot understand 
What I have done, or what would 

do 
In this blind bitter land.' 

And I grew weary of the sun 

Until my thoughts cleared up again. 

Remembering that the best I have 

done 
Was done to make it plain; 

That every year I have cried, 'At 

length 
My darling understands it all, 
Because I have come into my strength. 
And words obey my call.' 

89 



90 THE CONSOLATION 

That had she done so who can say 
What would have shaken from the 

sieve? 
I might have thrown poor words away 
And been content to Kve. 



NO SECOND TROY 

Why should I blame her that she 

filled my days 
With misery, or that she would of late 
Have taught to ignorant men most 

violent ways, 
Or hurled the little streets upon the 

great, 
Had they but courage equal to desire? 
What could have made her peaceful 

with a mind 
That nobleness made simple as a fire, 
With beauty like a tightened bow, a 

kind 
That is not natural in an age like this. 
Being high and solitary and most 

stern? 
Why, what could she have done being 

what she is? 
Was there another Troy for her to 

burn? 

91 



RECONCILIATION 

Some may have blamed you that you 

took away 
The verses that could move them on 

the day 
When, the ears being deafened, the 

sight of the eyes blind 
With lightning you went from me, 

and I could find 
Nothing to make a song about but 

kings, 
Helmets, and swords, and half-for- 
gotten things 
That were like memories of you — but 

now 
We'll out, for the world lives as long 

ago; 
And while we're in our laughing, 

weeping fit, 

92 



RECONCILIATION 93 

Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords 

into the pit. 
But, dear, cling close to me; since 

you were gone. 
My barren thoughts have chilled me 

to the bone. 



KING AND NO KING 

'Would it were anything but merely 

voice ! ' 
The No King cried who after that was 

King, 
Because he had not heard of anything 
That balanced with a word is more 

than noise; 
Yet Old Romance being kind, let him 

prevail 
Somewhere or somehow that I have 

forgot, 
Though he'd but cannon — Whereas 

we that had thought 
To have lit upon as clean and sweet 

a tale 
Have been defeated by that pledge 

you gave 
In momentary anger long ago; 

94 



KING AND NO KING 95 

And I that have not your faith, how 
shall I know 

That in the blinding light beyond the 
grave 

We'll find so good a thing as that we 
have lost? 

The hourly kindness, the day's com- 
mon speech, 

The habitual content of each with each 

When neither soul nor body has been 
crossed. 



PEACE 

Ah, that Time could touch a form 
That could show what Homer's age 
Bred to be a hero's wage. 
'Were not all her life but storm, 
Would not painters paint a form 
Of such noble lines,' I said, 
'Such a delicate high head, 
All that sternness amid charm, 
All that sweetness amid strength?' 
Ah, but peace that comes at length, 
Came when Time had touched her 
form. 



96 



AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE 

O HEART, be at peace, because 
Nor knave nor dolt can break 
What's not for their applause. 
Being for a woman's sake. 
Enough if the work has seemed. 
So did she your strength renew, 
A dream that a lion had dreamed 
Till the wilderness cried aloud, 
A secret between you two. 
Between the proud and the proud. 

What, still you would have their 

praise! 
But here's a haughtier text. 
The labyrinth of her days 
That her own strangeness perplexed; 
And how what her dreaming gave 
Earned slander, ingratitude, 

97 



98 AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE 

From self -same dolt and knave; 
Aye, and worse wrong than these, 
Yet she, singing upon her road. 
Half lion, half child, is at peace. 



THE FASCINATION OF WHAT'S 
DIFFICULT 

The fascination of what's difficult 
Has dried the sap out of my veins, 

and rent 
Spontaneous joy and natural content 
Out of my heart. There's something 

ails our colt 
That must, as if it had not holy blood. 
Nor on an Olympus leaped from cloud 

to cloud. 
Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat 

and jolt 
As though it dragged road metal. My 

curse on plays 
That have to be set up in fifty ways. 
On the day's war with every knave 

and dolt, 

99 



100 WHAT'S DIFFICULT 

Theatre business, management of men. 
I swear before the dawn comes round 

again 
I'll find the stable and pull out the 

bolt. 



A DRINKING SONG 

Wine comes in at the mouth 
And love comes in at the eye; 
That's all we shall know for truth 
Before we grow old and die. 
I lift the glass to my mouth, 
I look at you, and I sigh. 



101 



THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH 
TIME 

Though leaves are many, the root is 

one; 
Through all the lying days of my 

youth 
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the 

sun; 
Now I may wither into the truth. 



102 



ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS 
OF OUR NEW UNIVERSITY HAVE 
JOINED THE ANCIENT ORDER OF 
HIBERNIANS AND THE AGITATION 
AGAINST IMMORAL LITERATURE 

Where, where but here have Pride 

and Truth, 
That long to give themselves for wage, 
To shake their wicked sides at youth 
Restraining reckless middle-age. 



103 



TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME 
PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMI- 
TATORS OF HIS AND MINE 

You say, as I have often given tongue 
In praise of what another's said or 

sung, 
'Twere poHtic to do the hke by these; 
But have you known a dog to praise 

his fleas? 



104 



THE MASK 

'Put off that mask of burning gold 
With emerald eyes.' 
'O no, my dear, you make so bold 
To find if hearts be wild and wise, 
And yet not cold.' 

'I would but find what's there to find. 
Love or deceit.' 

*It was the mask engaged your mind, 
And after set your heart to beat. 
Not what's behind.' 

*But lest you are my enemy, 
I must enquire.' 
'O no, my dear, let all that be, 
What matter, so there is but fire 
In you, in me.^^' 



105 



UPON A HOUSE SHAKEN BY 
THE LAND AGITATION 

How should the world be luckier if 

this house, 
Where passion and precision have 

been one 
Time out of mind, became too ruinous 
To breed the lidless eye that loves the 

sun? 
And the sweet laughing eagle thoughts 

that grow 
Where wings have memory of wings, 

and all 
That comes of the best knit to the 

best? Although 
Mean roof-trees were the sturdier for 

its fall. 
How should their luck run high enough 

to reach 

106 



THE LAND AGITATION 107 

The gifts that govern men, and after 

these 
To gradual Time's last gift, a written 

speech 
Wrought of high laughter, loveliness 

and ease? 



AT THE ABBEY THEATRE 

{Imitated from Ronsard) 

Dear Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into 

our case. 
When we are high and airy hundreds 

say 
That if we hold that flight they'll 

leave the place, 
While those same hundreds mock 

another day 
Because we have made our art of 

common things, 
So bitterly, you'd dream they longed 

to look 
All their lives through into some drift 

of wings. 
You've dandled them and fed them 

from the book 

108 



AT THE ABBEY THEATRE 109 

And know them to the bone; impart 

to us — 
We'll keep the secret — a new trick to 

please. 
Is there a bridle for this Proteus 
That turns and changes like his 

draughty seas? 
Or is there none, most popular of men, 
But when they mock us that we mock 

again? 



THESE ARE THE CLOUDS 

These are the clouds about the fallen 

sun, 
The majesty that shuts his burning 

eye; 
The weak lay hand on what the 

strong has done, 
Till that be tumbled that was lifted 

high 
And discord follow upon unison, 
And all things at one common level 

lie. 
And therefore, friend, if your great 

race were run 
And these things came, so much the 

more thereby 
Have you made greatness your com- 
panion, 

110 



THESE ARE THE CLOUDS 111 

Although it be for children that you 

sigh: 
These are the clouds about the fallen 

sun, 
The majesty that shuts his burning 

eye. 



AT GALWAY RACES 

There where the course is, 
Delight makes all of the one mind, 
The riders upon the galloping horses, 
The crowd that closes in behind: 
We, too, had good attendance once, 
Hearers and hearteners of the work; 
Aye, horsemen for companions. 
Before the merchant and the clerk 
Breathed on the world with timid 

breath. 
Sing on: sometime, and at some new 

moon, 
We'll learn that sleeping is not death. 
Hearing the whole earth change its 

tune, 
Its flesh being wild, and it again 
Crying aloud as the race course is. 
And we find hearteners among men 
That ride upon horses. 

112 



A FRIEND'S ILLNESS 

Sickness brought me this 
Thought, in that scale of his: 
Why should I be dismayed 
Though flame had burned the whole 
World, as it were a coal, 
Now I have seen it weighed 
Against a soul? 



113 



ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME 

All things can tempt me from this 

craft of verse: 
One time it was a woman's face, or 

worse — 
The seeming needs of my fool-driven 

land; 
Now nothing but comes readier to the 

hand 
Than this accustomed toil. When I 

was young, 
I had not given a penny for a song 
Did not the poet sing it with such airs 
That one believed he had a sword 

upstairs ; 
Yet would be now, could I but have 

my wish. 
Colder and dumber and deafer than 

a fish. 

114 



THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG 

I WHISPERED, 'I am too young/ 

And then, 'I am old enough;' 

Wherefore I threw a penny 

To find out if I might love. 

'Go and love, go and love, young 

man, 
If the lady be young and fair.' 
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown 

penny, 
I am looped in the loops of her 

hair. 

Oh, love is the crooked thing, 
There is nobody wise enough 
To find out all that is in it. 
For he would be thinking of love 
Till the stars had run away, 

115 



116 THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG 

And the shadows eaten the moon. 
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown 

penny. 
One cannot begin it too soon. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 
NEW VERSION— 1912 



117 



THE HOUR-GLASS 

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

Wise Man. 

Bridget, his wife. 

Teigue, a fool. 

Angel. 

Children and Pupils. 

Pupils come in and stand before the 
stage curtain, which is still closed. One 
pupil carries a book. 

First Pupil 

He said we might choose the subject 
for the lesson. 

Second Pupil 

There is none of us wise enough to 
do that. 

119 



120 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Third Pupil 
It would need a great deal of 
wisdom to know what it is we want 
to know. 

Fourth Pupil 
I will question him. 

Fifth Pupil 
You? 

Fourth Pupil 
Last night I dreamt that some one 
came and told me to question him. 
I was to say to him, *You were wrong 
to say there is no God and no soul — 
maybe, if there is not much of either, 
tjiere is yet some tatters, some tag 
on the wind — so to speak — some rag 
upon a bush, some bob-tail of a god.' 
I will argue with him, — nonsense 
though it be — according to my dream, 
and you will see how well I can argue, 
and what thoughts I have. 



THE HOUR-GLASS Ul 

First Pupil 

I'd as soon listen to dried peas in 
a bladder, as listen to your thoughts. 

[Fool comes in. 

Fool 
Give me a penny. 

Second Pupil 

Let us choose a subject by chance. 
Here is his big book. Let us turn 
over the pages slowly. Let one of us 
put down his finger without looking. 
The passage his finger lights on will 
be the subject for the lesson. 

Fool 
Give me a penny. 

Third Pupil 
(Taking up book) How heavy it 
is. 



122 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Fourth Pupil 
Spread it on Teigue's back, and 
then we can all stand round and see 
the choice. 

Second Pupil 
Make him spread out his arms. 

Fourth Pupil 
Down on your knees. Hunch up 
your back. Spread your arms out 
now, and look like a golden eagle in 
a church. Keep still, keep still. 

Fool 
Give me a penny. 

Third Pupil 
Is that the right cry for an eagle 
cock.f^ 

Second Pupil 
I'll turn the pages — ^you close your 
eyes and put your finger down. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 123 

Third Pupil 
That's it, and then he cannot blame 
us for the choice. 

First Pupil 
There, I have chosen. Fool, keep 
still — and if what's wise is strange and 
sounds like nonsense, we've made a 
good choice. 

Fifth Pupil 
The Master has come. 

Fool 
Will anybody give a penny to a fool.^^ 
[One of the pupils draws back the 
stage curtain showing the Master 
sitting at his desk. There is an 
hour-glass upon his desk or in 
a bracket on the wall. One pupil 
puts the book before him. 

First Pupil 
We have chosen the passage for 
the lesson. Master. 'There are two 



124 THE HOUR-GLASS 

living countries, one visible and one 
invisible, and when it is summer there, 
it is winter here, and when it is Novem- 
ber with us, it is lambing-time there.' 

Wise Man 

That passage, that passage! what 
mischief has there been since yester- 
day? 

First Pupil 
None, Master. 

Wise Man 

Oh yes, there has; some craziness 
has fallen from the wind, or risen 
from the graves of old men, and made 
you choose that subject. 

Fourth Pupil 

I knew that it was folly, but they 
would have it. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 125 

Third Pupil 

Had we not better say we picked 
it by chance? 

Second Pupil 

No; he would say we were children 
still. 

First Pupil 
I have found a sentence under that 
one that says — as though to show it 
had a hidden meaning — a beggar wrote 
it upon the walls of Babylon. 

Wise Man 
Then find some beggar and ask him 
what it means, for I will have nothing 
to do with it. 

Fourth Pupil 
Come, Teigue, what is the old book's 
meaning when it says that there 
are sheep that drop their lambs in 
November.? 



126 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Fool 
To be sure — everybody knows, 
everybody in the world knows, when 
it is Spring with us, the trees are 
withering there, when it is Summer 
with us, the snow is faUing there, 
and have I not myself heard the lambs 
that are there all bleating on a cold 
November day — to be sure, does not 
everybody with an intellect know 
that; and maybe when it's night 
with us, it is day with them, for many 
a time I have seen the roads lighted 
before me. 

Wise Man 
The beggar who wrote that on 
Babylon wall meant that there is a 
spiritual kingdom that cannot be seen 
or known till the faculties whereby 
we master the kingdom of this world 
wither away, like green things in 
winter. A monkish thought, the 



THE HOUR-GLASS 127 

most mischievous thought that ever 
passed out of a man's mouth. 

First Pupil 
If he meant all that, I will take an 
oath that he was spindle-shanked, 
and cross-eyed, and had a lousy itching 
shoulder, and that his heart was 
Grosser than his eyes, and that he 
wrote it out of malice. 

Second Pupil 

Let's come away and find a better 

subject. 

Fourth Pupil 

And maybe now you'll let me 

choose. 

First Pupil 
Come. 

Wise Man 
Were it but true 'twould alter every- 
thing 
Until the stream of the world had 
changed its course. 



128 THE HOUR-GLASS 

And that and all our thoughts had run 
Into some cloudy thunderous spring 
They dream to be its source — 
Aye, to some frenzy of the mind; 
And all that we have done would be 

undone, 
Our speculation but as the wind. 

[A pause, 
I have dreamed it twice. 

First Pupil 
Something has troubled him. 
[Pupils go out. 

Wise Man 

Twice have I dreamed it in a morning 
dream, 

Now nothing serves my pupils but to 
come 

With a like thought. Reason is grow- 
ing dim; 

A moment more and Frenzy will beat 
his drum 



THE HOUR-GLASS 129 

And laugh aloud and scream; 

And I must dance in the dream. 

No, no, but it is like a hawk, a hawk of 

the air. 
It has swooped down — and this swoop 

makes the third — 
And what can I, but tremble like a 

bird? 

Fool 
Give me a penny. 

Wise Man 

That I should dream it twice, and 
after that, that they should pick it out. 

Fool 
Won't you give me a penny .^ 

Wise Man 

What do you want.^ What can it 
matter to you whether the words I 
am reading are wisdom or sheer folly? 



130 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Fool 
Such a great, wise teacher will not 
refuse a penny to a fool. 

Wise Man 
Seeing that everybody is a fool 
when he is asleep and dreaming, why 
do you call me wise? 

Fool 
O, I know, — I know, I know what 
I have seen. 

Wise Man 
Well, to see rightly is the whole of 
wisdom, whatever dream be with us. 

Fool 
When I went by Kilcluan, where 
the bells used to be ringing at the 
break of every day, I could hear noth- 
ing but the people snoring in their 
houses. When I went by Tubber- 



THE HOUR-GLASS 131 

vanach, where the young men used 
to be climbing the hill to the blessed 
well, they were sitting at the cross- 
roads playing cards. When I went 
by Carrigoras, where the friars used 
to be fasting and serving the poor, I 
saw them drinking wine and obeying 
their wives. And when I asked what 
misfortune had brought all these 
changes, they said it was no mis- 
fortune, but that it was the wisdom 
they had learned from your teaching. 

Wise Man 

And you too have called me wise 
— ^you would be paid for that good 
opinion doubtless — Run to the kitchen, 
my wife will give you food and drink. 

Fool 

That's foolish advice for a wise man 
to give. 



132 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Wise Man 
Why, Fool? 

Fool 
What is eaten is gone — I want 
pennies for my bag. I must buy 
bacon in the shops, and nuts in the 
market, and strong drink for the time 
the sun is weak, and snares to catch 
the rabbits and the hares, and a big 
pot to cook them in. 

Wise Man 
I have more to think about than 
giving pennies to your hke, so run 
away. 

Fool 

Give me a penny and I will bring 
you luck. The fishermen let me sleep 
among their nets in the loft because 
I bring them luck; and in the summer 
time, the wild creatures let me sleep 
near their nests and their holes. It 



THE HOUR-GLASS 133 

is lucky even to look at me, but it is 
much more lucky to give me a penny. 
If I was not lucky I would starve. 

Wise Man 
What are the shears for.^^ 

Fool 
I won't tell you. If I told you, you 
would drive them away. 

Wise Man 
Drive them away! Who would I 
drive away? 

Fool 

I won't tell you. 

Wise Man 
Not if I give you a penny .^^ 

Fool 

No. 

Wise Man 

Not if I give you two pennies .^^ 



134 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Fool 

You will be very lucky if you give 
me two pennies, but I won't tell you. 

Wise Man 
Three pennies? 

Fool 
Four, and I will tell you. 

Wise Man 

Very well — four, but from this out 
I will not call you Teigue the Fool. 

Fool 

Let me come close to you, where 
nobody will hear me; but first you 
must promise not to drive them away. 
(Wise Man nods.) Every day men 
go out dressed in black and spread 
great black nets over the hills, great 
black nets. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 135 

Wise Man 
A strange place that to fish in. 

Fool 

They spread them out on the hills 
that they may catch the feet of the 
angels; but every morning just before 
the dawn, I go out and cut the nets 
with the shears and the angels fly 
away. 

Wise Man 

{Speaking with excitement) Ah, now 
I know that you are Teigue the Fool. 
You say that I am wise, and yet I say, 
there are no angels. 

Fool 
I have seen plenty of angels. 

Wise Man 
No, no, you have not. 



136 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Fool 

They are plenty if you but look 
about you. They are like the blades 
of grass. 

Wise Man 

They are plenty as the blades of 
grass — I heard that phrase when I 
was but a child and was told folly. 

Fool 

When one gets quiet. When one 
is so quiet that there is not a thought 
in one's head maybe, there is some- 
thing that wakes up inside one, some- 
thing happy and quiet, and then all 
in a minute one can smell summer 
flowers, and tall people go by, happy 
and laughing, but they will not let us 
look at their faces. Oh no, it is not 
right that we should look at their 
faces. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 137 

Wise Man 

You have fallen asleep upon a hill, 
yet, even those that used to dream of 
angels dream now of other things. 

Fool 
I saw one but a moment ago — 
that is because I am lucky. It was 
coming behind me, but it was not 
laughing. 

Wise Man 
There's nothing but what men can 
see when they are awake. Nothing, 
nothing. 

Fool 
I knew you would drive them away. 

Wise Man 
Pardon me. Fool, 
I had forgotten who I spoke to. 
Well, there are your four pennies — 
Fool you are called. 



138 THE HOUR-GLASS 

And all day long they cry, 'Come 
hither, Fool.' 

[The Fool goes close to him. 
Or else it's, Tool, be gone.' 

[The Fool goes further off. 
Or, Tool, stand there.' 

[The Fool straightens himself up. 
Or, Tool, go sit in the corner.' 

[The Fool sits in the corner. 

And all the while 

What were they all but fools before I 

came? 
What are they now, but mirrors that 

seem men. 
Because of my image.^ Fool, hold up 
your head. [Fool does so. 

What foolish stories they have told of 

the ghosts 
That fumbled with the clothes upon 

the bed. 
Or creaked and shuffled in the corridor. 
Or else, if they were pious bred, 
Of angels from the skies. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 139 

That coming through the door. 
Or, it may be, standing there. 
Would sohdly out stare 
The steadiest eyes with their un- 
natural eyes. 
Aye, on a man's own floor. 

[An angel has come in. It should 
be played by a man if a man 
can be found ivith the right 
voice, and may wear a little 
golden domino and a halo made 
of metal. Or the whole face 
may be a beautiful mask, in 
which case the last sentence on 
page 136 should not be spoken. 
Yet it is strange, the strangest thing 

I have known. 
That I should still be haunted by the 

notion 
That there's a crisis of the spirit 

wherein 
We get new sight, and that they know 
some trick 



140 THE HOUR-GLASS 

To turn our thoughts for their own 

ends to frenzy. 
Why do you put your finger to your Hp, 
And creep away? [Fool goes out 

(Wise Man sees Angel.) What are 

you? Who are you? 
I think I saw some Hke you in my 

dreams, 
When but a child. That thing about 

your head, — 
That brightness in your hair — that 

flowery branch; 
But I have done with dreams, I have 

done with dreams. 

Angel 
I am the crafty one that you have 
called. 

Wise Man 
How that I called? 

Angel 
I am the messenger. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 141 

Wise Man 

What message could you bring to one 
like me? 

Angel {turning the hour-glass) 

That you will die when the last grain 

of sand 
Has fallen through this glass. 

Wise Man 

I have a wife. 
Children and pupils that I cannot 

leave : 
Why must I die, my time is far away? 

Angel 

You have to die because no soul has 

passed 
The heavenly threshold since you have 

opened school, 
But grass grows there, and rust upon 

the hinge; 



142 THE HOUR-GLASS 

And they are lonely that must keep 
the watch. 

Wise Man 

And whither shall I go when I am 
dead? 

Angel 

You have denied there is a purgatory, 
Therefore that gate is closed; you 

have denied 
There is a heaven, and so that gate is 

closed. 

Wise Man 

Where then? For I have said there 
is no hell. 

Angel 

Hell is the place of those who have 

denied; 
They find there what they planted and 

what dug. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 143 

A Lake of Spaces, and a Wood of 

Nothing, 
And wander there and drift, and never 

cease 
Waihng for substance. 

Wise Man 

Pardon me, blessed Angel, 
I have denied and taught the like to 

others. 
But how could I believe before my 

sight 
Had come to me? 

Angel 
It is too late for pardon. 

Wise Man 

Had I but met your gaze as now I 

met it — 
But how can you that live but where 

we go 
In the uncertainty of dizzy dreams 



144 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Know why we doubt? Parting, sick- 
ness and death. 
The rotting of the grass, tempest and 

drouth. 
These are the messengers that came 

to me. 
Why are you silent? You carry in 

your hands 
God's pardon, and you will not give it 

me. 
Why are you silent? Were I not 

afraid, 
I'd kiss your hands — no, no, the hem 

of your dress. 

Angel 
Only when all the world has testified. 
May soul confound it, crying out in joy. 
And laughing on its lonely precipice. 
What's dearth and death and sickness 

to the soul 
That knows no virtue but itself? Nor 

could it. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 145 

So trembling with delight and mother- 
naked, 

Live unabashed if the arguing world 
stood by. 

Wise Man 
It is as hard for you to understand 
Why we have doubted, as it is for us 
To banish doubt — what folly have I 

said? 
There can be nothing that you do not 

know: 
Give me a year — a month — a week — 

a day, 
I would undo what I have done — an 

hour — 
Give me until the sand has run in the 

glass. 

Angel 
Though you may not undo what you 

have done, 
I have this power — if you but find one 

soul, 



146 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Before the sands have fallen, that still 

believes, 
One fish to lie and spawn among the 

stones 
Till the great fisher's net is full again, 
You may, the purgatorial fire being 

passed. 
Spring to your peace. 

[Pupils sing in the distance. 
'Who stole your wits away 
And where are they gone?' 

Wise Man 

My pupils come. 
Before you have begun to climb the 

sky 
I shall have found that soul. They 

say they doubt, 
But what their mothers dinned into 

their ears 
Cannot have been so lightly rooted up; 
Besides, I can disprove what I once 

proved — 



THE HOUR-GLASS 147 

And yet give me some thought, some 

argument, 
More mighty than my own. 



Angel 

Farewell — farewell. 
For I am weary of the weight of time. 
[Angel goes out. Wise Man makes 
a step to follow and pauses. 
Some of his pupils come 
in at the other side of the 
stage. 

First Pupil 

Master, master, you must choose the 
subject. 

[Enter other pupils with Fool, 
about whom they dance; all 
the pupils may have little 
cushions on which presently 
they seat themselves. 



148 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Second Pupil 

Here is a subject — where have the 

Fool's wits gone? (singing) 
*Who dragged your wits away 
Where no one knows? 
Or have they run off 
On their own pair of shoes?' 

Fool 
Give me a penny. 

First Pupil 
The Master will find your wits. 

Second Pupil 

And when they are found, you must 
not beg for pennies. 

Third Pupil 

They are hidden somewhere in the 

badger's hole. 
But you must carry an old candle end 
If you would find them. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 149 

Fourth Pupil 
They are up above the clouds. 

Fool 
Give me a penny, give me a penny. 

First Pupil (singing) 
'I'll find your wits again, 
Come, for I saw them roll, 
To where old badger mumbles 
In the black hole.' 

Second Pupil (singing) 
*No, but an angel stole them 
The night that you were born, 
And now they are but a rag, 
On the moon's horn.' 

Wise Man 
Be silent. 

First Pupil 
Can you not see that he is troubled .^^ 
[All the pupils are seated. 



150 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Wise Man 
What do you think of when alone at 

night? 
Do not the things your mothers spoke 

about, 
Before they took the candle from the 

bedside, 
Rush up into the mind and master it, 
Till you believe in them against your 

will? 

Second Pupil (to first pupil) 
You answer for us. 

Third Pupil (in a whisper to first 
pupil) 
Be careful what you say; 
If he persuades you to an argument. 
He will but turn us all to mockery. 

First Pupil 
We had no minds until you made them 
for us; 



THE HOUR-GLASS 151 

Our bodies only were our mothers' 
work. 

Wise Man 
You answer with incredible things. 

It is certain 
That there is one, — though it may be 

but one — 
Believes in God and in some heaven 

and hell — 
In all those things we put into our 

prayers. 

First Pupil 
We thought those things before our 

minds were born, 
But that was long ago — we are not 

children. 

Wise Man 
You are afraid to tell me what you think 
Because I am hot and angry when I 

am crossed. 
I do not blame you for it; but have 

no fear, 



152 THE HOUR-GLASS 

For if there's one that sat on smiHng 

there, 
As though my arguments were sweet 

as milk 
Yet found them bitter, I will thank 

him for it. 
If he but speak his mind. 

First Pupil 
There is no one. Master, 
There is not one but found them sweet 
as milk. 

Wise Man 
The things that have been told us in 

our childhood 
Are not so fragile. 

Second Pupil 

We are no longer children. 

Third Pupil 
We all believe in you and in what you 
have taught. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 153 

Other Pupils 

All, all, all, all, in you, nothing but 
you. 

Wise Man 

I have deceived you — where shall I go 

for words — 
I have no thoughts — my mind has 

been swept bare. 
The messengers that stand in the fiery 

cloud, 
Fling themselves out, if we but dare 

to question. 
And after that, the Babylonian moon 
Blots all away. 

First Pupil {to other pupils) 

I take his words to mean 
That visionaries, and martyrs when 

they are raised 
Above translunary things, and there 

enlightened. 



154 THE HOUR-GLASS 

As the contention is, may lose the 

light, 
And flounder in their speech when 

the eyes open. 

Second Pupil 
How well he imitates their trick of 
speech. 

Third Pupil 
Their air of mystery. 

Fourth Pupil 

Their empty gaze. 
As though they'd looked upon some 

winged thing. 
And would not condescend to mankind 
after. 

First Pupil 
Master, we have all learnt that truth 

is learnt 
When the intellect's deliberate and 

cold. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 155 

As it were a polished mirror that re- 
flects 

An unchanged world; and not when 
the steel melts, 

Bubbling and hissing, till there's 
naught but fume. 

Wise Man 

When it is melted, when it all fumes up, 
They walk, as when beside those three 

in the furnace 
The form of the fourth. 

First Pupil 

Master, there's none among us 
That has not heard your mockery of 

these. 
Or thoughts like these, and we have 

not forgot. 

Wise Man 

Something incredible has happened — 
some one has come 



156 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Suddenly like a grey hawk out of the 

air. 
And all that I declared untrue is 

true. 

First Pupil (to other pupils) 

You'd think the way he says it, that 

he felt it. 
There's not a mummer to compare 

with him. 
He's something like a man. 

Second Pupil 

Give us some proof. 

Wise Man 
What proof have I to give, but that 

an angel 
An instant ago was standing on that 

spot. [The pupils rise. 

Third Pupil 
You dreamed it. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 157 

Wise Man 
I was awake as I am now. 

First Pupil {to the others) 

I may be dreaming now for all I know. 
He wants to show we have no certain 

proof 
Of anything in the world. 

Second Pupil 

There is this proof 
That shows we are awake — we have all 

one world 
While every dreamer has a world of 

his own, 
And sees what no one else can. 

Third Pupil 

Teigue sees angels. 
So when the Master says he has seen 

an angel, 
He may have seen one. 



158 THE HOUR-GLASS 

First Pupil 
Both may still be dreamers; 
Unless it's proved the angels were 
alike. 

Second Pupil 
What sort are the angels, Teigue? 

Third Pupil 
That will prove nothing. 
Unless we are sure prolonged obedience 
Has made one angel like another angel 
As they were eggs. 

First Pupil 

The Master's silent now: 
For he has found that to dispute with 

us — 
Seeing that he has taught us what we 

know — 
Is but to reason with himself. Let us 

away, 
And find if there is one believer left. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 159 

Wise Man 

Yes, yes. Find me but one that still 

believes 
The things that we were told when 

we were children. 

Third Pupil 
He'll mock and maul him. 

Fourth Pupil 

From the first I knew 
He wanted somebody to argue with. 

[They go. 

Wise Man 

I have no reason left. All dark, all 
dark ! 

[Pupils return laughing. They 
push forward fourth pupiL 

First Pupil 
Here, Master, is the very man you 
want. 



160 THE HOUR-GLASS 

He said, when we were studying the 

book, 
That maybe after all the monks were 

right, 
And you mistaken, and if we but gave 

him time, 
He'd prove that it was so. 

Fourth Pupil 

I never said it. 

Wise Man 

Dear friend, dear friend, do you be- 
lieve in God? 

Fourth Pupil 

Master, they have invented this to 
mock me. 

Wise Man 
You are afraid of me. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 161 

Fourth Pupil 
They know well, Master, 
That all I said was but to make them 

argue. 
They've pushed me in to make a mock 

of me. 
Because they knew I could take either 

side 
And beat them at it. 

Wise Man 

If you believe in God, 
You are my soul's one friend. 

[Pupils laugh. 
Mistress or wife 
Can give us but our good or evil luck 
Amid the howling world, but you shall 

give 
Eternity, and those sweet-throated 

things 
That drift above the moon. 

[The pupils look at one another 
and are silent. 



162 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Second Pupil 

How strange he is. 

Wise Man 
The angel that stood there upon that 

spot, 
Said that my soul was lost unless I 

found out 
One that believed. 

Fourth Pupil 

Cease mocking at me, Master, 

For I am certain that there is no God 

Nor immortality, and they that said it 

Made a fantastic tale from a starved 

dream 
To plague our hearts. Will that con- 
tent you. Master .f^ 

Wise Man 

The giddy glass is emptier every 
moment, 

And you stand there, debating, laugh- 
ing and wrangling. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 163 

Out of my sight! Out of my sight, I 

say. [He drives them out 

I'll call my wife, for what can women 

do, 
That carry us in the darkness of their 

bodies, 
But mock the reason that lets nothing 

grow 
Unless it grow in light. Bridget, 

Bridget. 
A woman never ceases to believe. 
Say what we will. Bridget, come 

quickly, Bridget. 

[Bridget comes in wearing her 

apron. Her sleeves turned up 

from her arms, which are 

covered with flour. 

Wife, what do you believe in.^ Tell 

me the truth, 
And not — as is the habit with you 

all- 
Something you think will please me. 

Do you pray? 



164 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Sometimes when you're alone in the 
house, do you pray? 

Bridget 
Prayers — no, you taught me to leave 
them off long ago. At first I was sorry, 
but I am glad now, for I am sleepy in 
the evenings. 

Wise Man 
Do you believe in God.^^ 

Bridget 
Oh, a good wife only believes in 
what her husband tells her. 

Wise Man 
But sometimes, when the children are 

asleep 
And I am in the school, do you not 

think 
About the Martyrs and the saints and 

the angels, 



THE HOUR-GLASS 165 

And all the things that you believed 
in once? 

Bridget 

I think about nothing — sometimes 
I wonder if the linen is bleaching 
white, or I go out to see if the crows 
are picking up the chickens' food. 

Wise Man 
My God,— my God! I will go out 

myself. 
My pupils said that they would find a 

man 
Whose faith I never shook— they may 

have found him. 
Therefore I will go out— but if I go. 
The glass will let the sands run out 

unseen. 
I cannot go— I cannot leave the glass. 
Go call my pupils— I can explain all 

now, 
Only when all our hold on life is 

troubled. 



166 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Only in spiritual terror can the Truth 
Come through the broken mind — as 

the pease burst 
Out of a broken pease-cod. 

[He clutches Bridget as she is going. 

Say to them. 
That Nature would lack all in her 

most need, 
Could not the soul find truth as in a 

flash. 
Upon the battle-field, or in the midst 
Of overwhelming waves, and say to 

them — 
But no, they would but answer as I bid. 

Bridget 
You want somebody to get up an 
argument with. 

Wise Man 
Look out and see if there is any one 
There in the street — I cannot leave the 
glass. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 167 

For somebody might shake it, and the 

sand 
If it were shaken might run down on 

the instant. 



Bridget 

I don't understand a word you are 
saying. There's a crowd of people 
talking to your pupils. 

Wise Man 

Go out and find if they have found a 

man 
Who did not understand me when I 

taught. 
Or did not listen. 

Bridget 

It is a hard thing to be married to 
a man of learning that must always be 
having arguments. [She goes out. 



168 THE HOUR-GLASS 

Wise Man 
Strange that I should be bhnd to the 

great secret, 
And that so simple a man might write 

it out 
Upon a blade of grass or bit of rush 
With naught but berry juice, and 

laugh to himself 
Writing it out, because it was so 

simple. 

[Enter Bridget followed by the Fool, 

Fool 

Give me something; give me a 
penny to buy bacon in the shops and 
nuts in the market, and strong drink 
for the time when the sun is weak. 

Bridget 

I have no pennies. (To Wise Man) 
Your pupils cannot find anybody to 
argue with you. There's nobody in 



THE HOUR-GLASS 169 

the whole country with behef enough 
for a lover's oath. Can't you be quiet 
now, and not always wanting to have 
arguments? It must be terrible to 
have a mind like that. 

Wise Man 
Then I am lost indeed. 

Bridget 
Leave me alone now, I have to 
make the bread for you and the 
children. [She goes into kitchen. 

Wise Man 

Children, children! 

Bridget 
Your father wants you, run to him. 
[Children run in. 

Wise Man 
Come to me, children. Do not be 
afraid. 



170 THE HOUR-GLASS 

I want to know if you believe in 

Heaven, 
God or the soul — no, do not tell me 

yet; 
You need not be afraid I shall bq 

angry, 
Say what you please — so that it is 

your thought — 
I wanted you to know before you 

spoke, 
That I shall not be angry. 

First Child 
We have not forgotten. Father. 

Second Child 
Oh no, Father. 

Both Children 

{As if repeating a lesson) There is 
nothing we cannot see, nothing we 
cannot touch. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 171 

First Child 
Foolish people used to say that 
there was, but you have taught us 
better. 

Wise Man 
Go to your mother, go — yet do not go. 
What can she say.^^ If I am dumb you 

are lost; 
And yet, because the sands are run- 
ning out, 
I have but a moment to show it all 

in. Children, 
The sap would die out of the blades of 

grass 
Had they a doubt. They understand 

it all, 
Being the fingers of God's certainty. 
Yet can but make their sign into the 

air; 
But could they find their tongues 

they'd show it all; 
But what am I to say that am but one. 



172 THE HOUR-GLASS 

When they are milHons and they will 

not speak — 

[Children have run out. 
But they are gone; what made them 

run away? 

[The Fool comes in with a dan- 
delion 
Look at me, tell me if my face is 

changed, 
Is there a notch of the fiend's nail 

upon it 
Already? Is it terrible to sight? 
Because the moment's near. 

[Going to glass. 

I dare not look, 

I dare not know the moment when 

they come. 
No, no, I dare not. {Covers glass.) 

Will there be a footfall. 
Or will there be a sort of rending 

sound, 
Or else a cracking, as though an iron 

claw 



THE HOUR-GLASS 173 

Had gripped the threshold stone? 

[Fool has begun to blow the dan- 
delion. 

What are you doing? 

Fool 
Wait a minute — four — five — six — 

Wise Man 
What are you doing that for? 

Fool 
I am blowing the dandehon to find 
out what hour it is. 

Wise Man 
You have heard everything, and that 

is why 
You'd find what hour it is — you'd find 

that out, 
That you may look upon a fleet of 

devils 
Dragging my soul away. You shall 

not stop. 



174 THE HOUR-GLASS 

I will have no one here when they 
come in, 

I will have no one sitting there — no 
one — 

And yet — and yet — there is some- 
thing strange about you. 

I half remember something. What 
is it? 

Do you believe in God and in the soul? 

Fool 
So you ask me now. I thought 
when you were asking your pupils, 
'Will he ask Teigue the Fool? Yes, 
he will, he will; no, he will not — yes, 
he will/ But Teigue will say nothing. 
Teigue will say nothing. 

Wise Man 
Tell me quickly. 

Fool 
I said, 'Teigue knows everything, not 



THE HOUR-GLASS 175 

even the green-eyed cats and the hares 
that milk the cows have Teigue's wis- 
dom'; but Teigue will not speak, he 
says nothing. 

Wise Man 

Speak, speak, for underneath the cover 

there 
The sand is running from the upper 

glass, 
And when the last grain's through, I 

shall be lost. 

Fool 

I will not speak. I will not tell 
you what is in my mind. I will not 
tell you what is in my bag. You 
might steal away my thoughts. I 
met a bodach on the road yesterday, 
and he said, 'Teigue, tell me how 
many pennies are in your bag; I 
will wager three pennies that there are 



176 THE HOUR-GLASS 

not twenty pennies in your bag; let 
me put in my hand and count them/ 
But I gripped the bag the tighter, and 
when I go to sleep at night I hide the 
bag where nobody knows. 

Wise Man 

There's but one pinch of sand, and I 

am lost 
If you are not he I seek. 

Fool 

O, what a lot the Fool knows, but 
he says nothing. 

Wise Man 

Yes, I remember now. You spoke of 

angels. 
You said but now that you had seen 

an angel. 
You are the one I seek, and I am saved. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 177 

Fool 

Oh no. How could poor Teigue 
see angels? Oh, Teigue tells one tale 
here, another there, and everybody 
gives him pennies. If Teigue had not 
his tales he would starve. 

[He breaks away and goes out. 

Wise Man 

The last hope is gone. 
And now that it's too late I see it all. 
We perish into God and sink away 
Into reality — the rest's a dream. 

[The Fool comes back. 

Fool 

There was one there — ^there by the 
threshold stone, waiting there; and he 
said, 'Go in, Teigue, and tell him 
everything that he asks you. He will 
give you a penny if you tell him.' 



178 THE HOUR-GLASS 
Wise Man 

I know enough, that know God's will 
prevails. 

Fool 

Waiting till the moment had come 
— ^That is what the one out there was 
saying, but I might tell you what you 
asked. That is what he was saying. 

Wise Man 

Be silent. May God's will prevail on 

the instant, 
Although His will be my eternal pain. 
I have no question: 
It is enough, I know what fixed the 

station 
Of star and cloud. 
And knowing all, I cry 
That what so God has willed 
On the instant be fulfilled. 
Though that be my damnation. 



THE HOUR-GLASS 179 

The stream of the world has changed 

its course, 
And with the stream my thoughts 

have run 
Into some cloudy thunderous spring 
That is its mountain source — 
Aye, to some frenzy of the mind. 
For all that we have done's undone, 
Our speculation but as the wind. 

[He dies. 
Fool 

Wise man — Wise man, wake up 
and I will tell you everything for a 
penny. It is I, poor Teigue the Fool. 
Why don't you wake up, and say, 
'There is a penny for you, Teigue'? 
No, no, you will say nothing. You 
and I, we are the two fools, we know 
everything, but we will not speak. 

[Angel enters holding a casket. 

O, look what has come from his 
mouth! O, look what has come from 
his mouth — the white butterfly! He 



180 THE HOUR-GLASS 

is dead, and I have taken his soul in 
my hands; but I know why you open 
the hd of that golden box. I must 
give it to you. There then, {he puts 
hutterfly in casket) he has gone through 
his pains, and you will open the lid 
in the Garden of Paradise. {He closes 
curtain and remains outside it.) He is 
gone, he is gone, he is gone, but come 
in, everybody in the world, and look 
at me. 

*I hear the wind a blow 
I hear the grass a grow, 
And all that I know, I know.' 
But I will not speak, I will run away. 

[He goes out. 



NOTES 



181 



NOTES 

Prefatory Poem 

*Free of the ten and four' is an error I cannot 
now correct, without more rewriting than I 
have a mind for. Some merchant in Villon, I 
forget the reference, was *free of the ten and 
four.' Irish merchants exempted from certain 
duties by the Irish Parliament were, unless 
memory deceives me again for I am writing 
away from books, *free of the eight and six.' 
Poems beginning with that 'To a Wealthy 

Man' and ending with that 'To a 

Shade' 
During the thirty years or so during which 
I have been reading Irish newspapers, three 
public controversies have stirred my imagina- 
tion. The first was the Parnell controversy. 
There were reasons to justify a man's joining 
either party, but there were none to justify, 
on one side or on the other, lying accusations 
forgetful of past service, a frenzy of detraction. 
And another was the dispute over 'The 
Playboy.' There were reasons for opposing 
as for supporting that violent, laughing thing, 
183 



184 NOTES 

but none for the lies, for the unscrupulous 
rhetoric spread against it in Ireland, and from 
Ireland to America. The third prepared for 
the Corporation's refusal of a building for Sir 
Hugh Lane's famous collection of pictures. 

One could respect the argument that Dublin, 
with much poverty and many slums, could not 
afford the £22,000 the building was to cost 
the city, but not the minds that used it. One 
frenzied man compared the pictures to Troy 
horse which * destroyed a city,' and innumer- 
able correspondents described Sir Hugh Lane 
and those who had subscribed many thousands 
to give Dublin paintings by Corot, Manet, 
Monet, Degas, and Renoir, as * self-seekers,' 
* self -ad vertisers, ' ' picture-dealers, ' * log-roll- 
ing cranks and faddists,' and one clerical 
paper told * picture-dealer Lane' to take 
himself and his pictures out of that. A 
member of the Corporation said there were 
Irish artists who could paint as good if they 
had a mind to, and another described a half- 
hour in the temporary gallery in Harcourt 
Street as the most dismal of his life. Some 
one else asked instead of these eccentric 
pictures to be given pictures ' like those beauti- 
ful productions displayed in the windows of 
our city picture shops.' Another thought 
that we would all be more patriotic if we 



NOTES 185 

devoted our energy to fighting the Insurance 
Act. Another would not hang them in his 
kitchen, while yet another described the vogue 
of French impressionist painting as having 
gone to such a length among * log-rolling 
enthusiasts' that they even admired * works 
that were rejected from the Salon forty years 
ago by the finest critics in the world.' 

The first serious opposition began in the 
Irish Catholic^ the chief Dublin clerical paper, 
and Mr. William Murphy, the organiser of the 
recent lock-out and Mr. Healy's financial 
supporter in his attack upon Parnell, a man 
of great influence, brought to its support a 
few days l&,ter his newspapers The Evening 
Herald and The Irish Independent, the most 
popular of Irish daily papers. He replied to 
my poem *To a Wealthy Man' (I was thinking 
of a very different wealthy man) from what he 
described as *Paudeen's point of view,' and 
*Paudeen's point of view' it was. The en- 
thusiasm for *Sir Hugh Lane's Corots' — one 
paper spelled the name repeatedly *Crot' 
— being but *an exotic fashion,' waited *some 
satirist like Gilbert' who * killed the aesthetic 
craze,' and as for the rest 'there were no greater 
humbugs in the world than art critics and so- 
called experts.' As the first avowed reason 
for opposition, the necessities of the poor got 



186 NOTES 

but a few lines, not so many certainly as the 
objection of various persons to supply Sir Hugh 
Lane with 'a monument at the city's expense,' 
and as the gallery was supported by Mr. 
James Larkin, the chief Labour leader, and 
important slum workers, I assume that the 
purpose of the opposition was not exclusively 
charitable. 

These controversies, political, literary, and 
artistic, have showed that neither religion nor 
politics can of itself create minds with enough 
receptivity to become wise, or just and generous 
enough to make a nation. Other cities have 
been as stupid — Samuel Butler laughs at 
shocked Montreal for hiding the Discobolus 
in a cellar — but Dublin is the capital of a 
nation, and an ancient race has nowhere else 
to look for an education. Goethe in Wilhelm 
Meister describes a saintly and naturally 
gracious woman, who getting into a quarrel 
over some trumpery detail of religious observ- 
ance, grows — she and all her little religious 
community — angry and vindictive. In Ireland 
I am constantly reminded of that fable of 
the futility of all discipline that is not of 
the whole being. Religious Ireland — and the 
pious Protestants of my childhood were signal 
examples — thinks of divine things as a round 
of duties separated from life and not as an 



NOTES 187 

element that may be discovered in all circum- 
stance and emotion, while political Ireland 
sees the good citizen but as a man who holds 
to certain opinions and not as a man of good 
will. Against all this we have but a few 
educated men and the remnants of an old 
traditional culture among the poor. Both 
were stronger forty years ago, before the rise 
of our new middle class which showed as its 
first public event, during the nine years of the 
Parnellite split, how base at moments of excite- 
ment are minds without culture. 1914. 

'Romantic Ireland's dead and gone* sounds 
old-fashioned now. It seemed true in 1913, 
but I did not foresee 1916. The late Dublin 
Rebellion, whatever one can say of its wisdom, 
will long be remembered for its heroism. ' They 
weighed so lightly what they gave,' and gave 
too in some cases without hope of success. 
July 1916. 

The Dolls 

The fable for this poem came into my head 
while I was giving some lectures in Dublin. I 
had noticed once again how all thought among 
us is frozen into 'something other than human 
life.' After I had made the poem, I looked up 
one day into the blue of the sky, and suddenly 
imagined, as if lost in the blue of the sky, stiff 



188 NOTES 

figures in procession. I remembered that they 
were the habitual image suggested by blue 
sky, and looking for a second fable called them 
*The Magi', complimentary forms to those 
enraged dolls. 

The Hour-Glass 

A friend suggested to me the subject of this 
play, an Irish folk-tale from Lady Wilde's 
Ancient Legends. I have for years struggled 
with something which is charming in the naive 
legend but a platitude on the stage. I did 
not discover till a year ago that if the wise 
man humbled himself to the fool and received 
salvation as his reward, so much more powerful 
are pictures than words, no explanatory 
dialogue could set the matter right. I was 
faintly pleased when I converted a music-hall 
singer and kept him going to Mass for six 
weeks, so little responsibility does one feel 
for those to whom one has never been intro- 
duced; but I was always ashamed when I saw 
any friend of my own in the theatre. Now I 
have made my philosopher accept God's will, 
whatever it is, and find his courage again, and 
helped by the elaboration of verse, have so 
changed the fable that it is not false to my 
own thoughts of the world. 

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